


No Life But This

by blondsak



Series: countless fates [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Buckle Up - Heavy Angst Ahead, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, It's hard to explain, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-02-09 13:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18639226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak
Summary: A fight with a wizard leaves Peter severely injured and Tony stuck in a strange place far away from him. All he wants is to get back to his kid, but nothing is ever easy.





	1. Well, crap

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: heavy angst in later chapters and also character death (but not really... you'll see). It WILL have a happy ending, I promise. I just need to put Tony through hell first.
> 
> This story will be 4 chapters with an epilogue. Will update weekly or even faster. Title taken from an Emily Dickinson poem.
> 
> Lastly, I'm blondsak on Tumblr - come find me so we can scream about irondad together!

Just another day, just another evil being for the Avengers to be fighting against. This week it’s a malicious, self-serving wizard who is attacking the Sanctum Sanctorum. Tony figures Strange and Wong probably have it covered, but the fight’s tearing up Greenwich so all available Avengers - in this case Clint, Nat, Steve & Tony - are called out. Tony isn’t surprised to see Peter swinging around helping secure the perimeter upon their arrival, and pulls him into the comms.

“How’s it looking down there, Spider-Man?”

“Hey Mr. Stark! Looking good, just trying to help get everyone safely out of the way.”

“Good job, kid. Keep that up and leave the evil-sorcerer-fighting to us, okay?”

“On it, Mr. Stark!”

Tony flies down into the action, where he can see Strange and the wizard hurling spells at one another. No Wong, he notices right away, only to hear some static on the line as Natasha chimes in.

“I found Wong, he’s injured and unconscious. Clint, can you meet us one block east?”

“Copy that, Nat.”

Tony watches as the quinjet flies up and away. He sees Steve on the ground, slowly trying to come up to the wizard from behind, only for the man to turn around and fling a giant arc of blue at him. Steve gets the shield up - offering some protection - but still goes flying, smashing through the window of a Starbucks. Tony decides then it’s about time he got in on the action, and shoots multiple repulsor blasts at the wizard, who deftly sidesteps them while still tussling with Strange. Suddenly, a giant blast of yellow arcs over Strange, his body seizing and freezing up as though he is covered in ice before he has a chance to deflect it.

He falls to the ground just as Tony lands, his suit clanking on the asphalt. “Alright, playtime’s over, baby Saruman.”

Tony hears Peter laugh through the comms, but the wizard doesn't appear amused. “Hello, Stark. I was hoping you might come to fight me. Strange may be the Sorcerer Supreme but he is still rather untested, whereas you have fought valiantly many times and against many foes.”

“Yeah yeah,” Tony replies, putting his repulsors up. “I got a better goatee than him too. Enough chit chat. I have a movie night with my kid scheduled and I am not missing it for some Voldemort wannabe.”

The wizard cocked his head, a mischievous smirk forming. Before Tony could react he was hit with the same yellow arc Strange had been. While he himself didn’t freeze up, the entire suit shut down, everything going silent and dark.

“Shit. FRIDAY, FRIDAY you copy?”

No answer. “ _Shit_.”

The wizard calmly walks over to Tony, the smirk now a full grin. “I wasn’t aware you had a child, Stark. Tell me, how will he react when he finds out his father is dead at the hand of the greatest sorcerer who ever lived?”

Tony rolls his eyes but tries to ignore him, frantically doing anything he can think of to get the suit rebooted. Just as the wizard reaches him and begins to cast another spell, Tony hears the sound of a whoosh to his left and then-

“You keep your hands off Mr. Stark, jerk!”

-the kid is swooping in, kicking the wizard in the chest who then goes flying over a pile of rubble and out of sight.

“Mr. Stark! Are you alright?”

“Yeah, Pete, I’m good, but the suit is dead in the water. Can you tell Clint to have FRIDAY send another suit for me? And I’m going to need you to break this one open.”

Tony hears Peter say something to Clint before he moves in front of the suit, pulling off the chest piece. Tony feels both heavily exposed and much safer as Peter rips off the entire front of the suit piece by piece so that Tony can step out.

“You good, Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah, kid, but we need to find cover, I have a feeling that wizard will be - “

Tony doesn’t get a chance to finish his thought, as Peter without warning grabs him around the waist, whipping him around to face the other way as though shielding him from an attack. Half a second later comes the arrival of literal tons of projectiles from the rubble pile the wizard had landed on the other side of. Peter leans over Tony, doing his best to cover him from the debris. The noise the metal and cement makes as it lands all around them is cacophonic. Tony feels himself pushed to the ground, Peter on top of him, as more keeps coming. He covers his head with his arms in an instinctive attempt to shield himself. 

As the last of the rubble lands, for a moment Tony isn’t sure whether he’s gone deaf or if everything has just gone silent. But then he hears a whimper, and his world narrows down from the fight and the wreckage to just the one person he can’t live without.

“Peter,” Tony says, trying to lift himself out from underneath the kid. But Peter doesn’t move, just whimpers again. “ _Peter_. I need you to get off me so I can look at you, kid.”

Peter’s breath is coming fast and shallow, but Tony feels him nod against the back of his neck, and a moment later Peter twists off Tony and onto his back. Tony doesn’t waste any time getting to his hands and knees and then he’s leaning over the kid. 

It doesn’t take him long to see what’s wrong either, and for a moment he’s pretty sure his heart literally leaps into his throat. Because there is _no way_ there is a two-foot long pipe stuck through Peter’s middle right flank right now.

Then the kid makes a choking noise and Tony no longer has time for denial. 

“M-mister-”

“Okay kid, I gotcha. I gotcha, it’s going to be okay,” Tony reassures, caressing the kid’s temple as he tries to assess the damage. Judging by the position, Tony guesses the pipe has gone straight through the lower right lung or the top of the kid’s liver, and going off the wheezing sounds Peter’s making he’s going to guess the former. But right now it doesn’t matter which one, because either way the kid needs to get to the Tower medbay _yesterday_.

Tony adjusts so that Peter’s head is in his lap, then lifts the kid’s right arm and presses where he knows the comm button sits. “Clint, I need you down here right-the- _fuck_ -now, Spider-Man is _down_ , I repeat, Spider-Man is _down_.”

“Nearly there, Tony.”

“Tell Cho to prepare the medbay for surgery, he’s been _impaled_ by a fuckin’ pipe-”

Nat chimes in. “ETA 30 seconds, Tony.”

Tony drops the kid’s arm, turning back to where Peter is still wheezing, then coughing and _god_ , Tony can see blood seeping through the mask near his mouth. He can’t see the kid’s face, but he knows he’s looking at Tony with terrified eyes. Tony badly wants to lift the mask, to give him the comfort he is clearly so desperately in need of, but he can’t risk the wizard - 

“What do we have here?”

Tony glances up to see the aforementioned asshole staring down at them, looking worse for the wear but currently wielding all the control. 

“Poor child. You care deeply for him, do you not? It’s a pity he won’t survive his injuries once I’m done with you both.”

“ _Don’t touch him_ ,” Tony bites out, leaning as much over Peter as he can, knowing there’s nothing else he can do except hope backup is imminent.

“You’re a formidable opponent, Stark,” the wizard sighs as he starts whipping his hands around, clearly conjuring another spell. Tony shields Peter as best he can manage, doing everything in his power to cover the kid from any damage the sorcerer is intent upon.

“But I cannot have you or this bug meddling any longer,” the wizard finishes, making a final motion with his arms.

“Tony!” he hears someone, maybe Steve yell close by, but before he can look he’s bathed in red light and everything goes dark.

\--

When Tony’s eyes blink open, it’s to a brightly lit room. “Jesus,” he mutters, blinking twice before closing his eyes again, his hands moving up to rub at his throbbing skull. Lids still firmly shut, he takes stock of himself. Besides the pulsing headache, he seems to be uninjured, if a little sore. He’s laying on something soft, with a pillow cushioning his head. 

“Okay, not dying, and not being tortured,” he mumbles, giving himself another ten seconds before he slowly cracks his eyes open.

The bright light that assaulted his vision before has receded to a more manageable setting, which he sees now emanates from a lamp on a side table next to the bed. Beyond that is a small bureau dresser, and a door in the corner opposite him.

“Where…?” he mumbles, now slowly sitting up. “What the hell happened?”

Slowly his mind starts putting the pieces together - _I was with Peter, we were fighting a… a wizard? And then the wizard shut down my suit and Peter came and Peter - Peter - oh god -_

Tony is on his feet, swaying and lunging towards the door.

The door swings open to a larger room, broken into two distinct sections. On one side is a living area, with two couches, a table with a lamp, a television and a desk with a phone on it. On the other side is a small kitchenette area. The whole place looks oddly familiar, but it’s not decorated like any place Tony has ever lived before. Far too simple, and far too cheap. 

As Tony looks around he comes to a more important realization, however. There are no windows. No vents. _No way in or out._

Tony puts that thought aside for now, seeing two more doors yet to check. The first is a bathroom, complete with a shower and a few towels, and Tony feels his earlier panic building up again. Still no windows or vents.

“C’mon kid, please be here, please,” he says as he opens the second door, to see it’s another windowless bedroom, bathed in darkness but for the light from behind him.

Sure enough, there on the bed is a lump facing toward the wall, and as Tony draws nearer the lump takes the shape of a very familiar spiderling. 

A sigh of relief escapes Tony, but it’s short-lived as he has yet to see Peter move.

“Peter?” Tony says, leaning over the edge of the bed and shaking Peter’s shoulder gently. “ _Kid_? Kid, can you hear me?”

_Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be -_

“Yngghhh,” the lump groans, shifting onto its back to glance up at him with barely-cracked eyelids. 

Despite his overwhelming concerns - he has no idea where they are, how long it’s been since the battle, or exactly how badly injured Peter is yet - Tony tries to soften his features into a semblance of reassurance. “Hey kid, how’re you feeling? How’s your side?”

The kid doesn’t answer right away, seeming to take stock of his surroundings. Tony takes advantage of the pause in conversation to check out Peter’s right flank, lifting up his shirt - _how did he get changed into jeans and a t-shirt?_ \- and is very surprised to find that it’s already healed up, not even a nasty scar left to mend.

“What the…”, he mutters, trailing off. _Just how long have we been here?_

Peter mumbles something, too soft for Tony to catch, and Tony pulls the t-shirt back down, lifting one hand up to comb through Peter’s hair while the other checks his pulse.

“What’s that, kid?”

What Peter says next knocks him off his feet. Hell, maybe even punches him all the way to New Jersey.

“Dad? Where are we?”

\--

Tony can’t see his expression, but he’s sure in this moment it’s quite comical. He immediately puts both hands up to the kid's skull, feeling for bumps. “Peter, are you alright? Did you hit your head in the fight?”

Peter gives him a questioning look. “Uh, no? What fight? Last thing I remember is lying down to take a nap at the mansion and then I woke up here, but somehow I don’t think we’re in Malibu anymore, Toto-”

_“Malibu?”_

Peter rolls his eyes. “Yeah Dad, Malibu. Y’know, where we live during the summer?”

Tony feels a panic attack starting to come on now. He takes a closer look at Peter, and while it _is_ Peter, it’s also obvious now that it’s not _his_ Peter. Where his Peter is all hard muscle, the result of the mutation, this Peter still has some baby fat. His hair is more closely cropped, clearly styled, and now that Tony looks him up and down he realizes that the kid might be in jeans and a t-shirt but they _definitely_ didn’t come from May’s favored thrift store.

Tony takes a deep breath. “Peter, I’m not your father.”

Peter frowns at him, then grins. “Very funny, Dad. Is this like, some elaborate prank? Are you trying to get back at me for the soap incident last month? Because I only shared that video with Flash and like, two other people-”

“No kid, I’m sorry, but this isn’t a joke. I don’t know what’s going on, and while I might be Tony Stark I’m not your Tony Stark, and I’m _definitely_ not your dad.”

Peter’s mouth shuts so fast Tony hears his teeth click. Tony can see his eyes watering up and then dart up and down Tony, probably also taking stock of the small but undeniable differences between his dad and the man beside him now. “Well, crap.”

\--

“My mom’s name was Mary. She died in a plane crash when I was three,” Peter says to fill the silence. The two of them have been sitting on the couches the last hour, both lost in thought. 

Tony had spent the majority of the day surveying every last inch of their prison. With Peter’s help he moved around all the furniture not affixed to the walls, searching for any evidence of a hidden door or some other entry/exit point. To Tony’s complete frustration, nothing was found. Even more confounding, there were no mics or cameras; it truly seemed it was just the two of them, entombed in what qualified as a luxury Super 8 hotel suite, albeit one with cement walls. He was just glad there was running water and a large stock of food in the kitchenette. He hoped there was some way for air to replenish, but between four rooms of oxygen that wasn’t yet an immediate concern.

He’d tried the phone, but all he got was static. The television only had two channels, both of which played nothing but reruns of long-canceled shows. Tony considered tearing apart the two electronics to build some kind of communicator, but both devices were dinosaurs - hell, the phone was a rotary - and it wasn’t worth the time, at least not yet.

“Mary, you said? Were we married?” Tony asks when Peter doesn’t continue.

“No. I think you got me on weekends or something until she died,” Peter replies. “You never really talk about her... Do you have a Mary?”

“No,” Tony answers honestly. “But my Peter does. Or, did. His Mary - his mom - died too though, a long time ago now.”

“Are you still like, a billionaire? Do you own SI? Do you still make weapons?”

Tony laughs. “Yeah, kid, still a billionaire, and SI still exists. I used to make weapons, but no longer. Have you ever heard of Iron Man? Or Spider-Man?”

Peter shakes his head. 

“How about the Avengers?”

“No, who are they?”

“They’re, uh, just some important people, back where I come from. Kind of like superheroes.”

Peter nods, but doesn’t say anything further. Tony eyes him, and takes note that his hands are trembling. He knows the kid must be scared out of his mind, but he also knows he’s not his dad, and any offer of comfort might be unwanted. He decides to try a different route. 

“I found some cards and games in the desk drawer. Did your dad ever teach you cribbage?”

\--

Three games of cribbage later, two of which Tony lost on purpose, the kid’s far more relaxed. He lets out a big yawn, and Tony looks at the clock on the wall, sees it’s only a quarter past nine. 

“You getting sleepy, kid?”

Peter rubs at his eyes. “Yeah, guess so.”

They both stand up at the same time, Tony following Peter past the living room toward Peter’s bedroom. Just as Peter is about to pass through the doorway, he abruptly turns around, wrapping his arms around Tony and burying his face into his chest. Tony’s taken aback for a second, but then leans into the hug. 

It might not be _his_ Peter, but it’s still a Peter who needs affection, and Tony will never deny _any_ Peter that. “Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay. I’m going to figure this out, I promise, and we’ll get you home to your dad.”

There’s a few beats, a small sob, then, “You’re really not my actual dad, are you?”

“No,” Tony answers honestly, “but I wish I was, kid. I really do.”

“Buddy,” Peter mumbles into this chest, then lets out another small sob. Tony rubs his back.

“Don’t think I quite caught that, kid.”

Peter leans his head back, his red-rimmed eyes making every one of Tony's protective instincts flare up. “You don’t call me _kid_ , you’ve never called me _kid_. You always call me Peter, Pete or buddy.”

“Ah, I see,” Tony sighs, resting his head on top of Peter’s. “Okay, buddy, how about we both sleep in my room tonight? I’d rather keep you close by where I can see you, make sure you’re safe.”

Peter laughs a little, the vibrations of which Tony finds instantly calming. “Now _that_ sounds like my dad. And okay.”

Ten minutes later the both of them are sprawled out on Tony’s bed, Peter already fast asleep. Even with the different haircut, Peter still has that one curl on his forehead that just won’t stay in place, and Tony brushes it back, stroking his temple. 

As he drifts off, he sends up a small prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in that wherever his Peter is, he’s safe and sleeping as soundly as this one.

\--

Tony wakes up to someone poking at his side. He sits up, immediately looking at the other side of the bed. The _empty_ other side of the bed. “Kid?”

“I’m over here, perv.”

Tony twists around to the other side, only to find two web-shooters aimed inches from his nose. A teenage girl with wild curly hair and very familiar brown eyes stands before him in a Spidersuit, her pose threatening.

“Who are you? And where’s Ms. Stark?”


	2. Whatever It Takes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains discussion of underage rape/non-con. Descriptions are vague but do exist. Please take care of yourself.

Tony’s hands fly up in what he knows is a ridiculous attempt to shield himself. After all, he’s seen what the kid’s webbing glue can do. “Whoa, just chill out a minute, kid.”

Girl Peter huffs indignantly, not lowering her shooters even a millimeter. “Chill out? That’s rich coming from the asshole who obviously kidnapped me.”

“I didn’t _kidnap_ you,” Tony argues, only to cower as she menacingly moves the shooters another few inches into now quite-limited personal space. “Listen, I can explain all this. Just put down your shooters and we can talk.”

“Oh yeah? How are you going to explain how I went from going to bed in my room at the compound to waking up next to some guy who couldn’t even win fifth place in a Robert Downey Junior look-alike contest?”

“Robert Donny who?” Tony asks, then shakes his head. “Never mind, that is clearly not important here. Listen, kid, or should I say Peyton? Or maybe Paisley? Penelope, perhaps?”

Girl Peter shifts a bit, clearly uncertain. “It’s Petra, but everyone calls me Pete.”

Tony chuckles. “Of course they do. Well, listen Pete, let me ask you this: are your senses tingling around me? Do I feel like an unsafe person to you?”

Pete’s lips thin as she looks him up and down, this time with more calculation. “No, you don’t. But that doesn’t mean you’re not dangerous.”

Tony nods. “That’s fair. But I promise you, I’m really not out to hurt you. I didn’t bring you here, or at least I don’t think I did.” He looks away then. “To be honest, I’m not really sure how things work here, or even where _here_ is.”

Finally, Pete lowers the shooters, eyeing him now with a curious concern, the familiarity of which makes Tony’s chest ache with longing. 

“Okay, fine. Tell me what you know, then. But do _not_ lie, or I’ll web you to the wall.”

\--

“That,” Pete says around a mouthful of her sandwich, “frankly sounds like complete bullcrap, Mr. _Stark_.”

“I can prove it,” Tony assures her. “Does your Tony - er, does she go by Tony?”

Pete nods, practically inhaling another bite. “Antonia, yeah. Or Dr. Stark, when talking to” - Pete throws up air quotes - “‘sexist idiots’. She always tells me to call her Toni, but I dunno, that just feels weird, y’know?” Pete laughs then, the sound just as bright and airy as Peter’s, and looks at Tony conspiratorially. “Sometimes just to tease her, I joke around and call her Dr. Mrs. The Iron Woman, sort of like a play on the _Adventure Brothers_ character. She even has her hair styled like Dr. Mrs. too, which my friend Nadene finds even more hilarious than I do. Ms. Stark says she doesn’t understand the reference but I’m pretty sure she’s lying -”

“Okay, Pete, slow down before you choke,” Tony interrupts, though not without fondness. “Anyway, like I said, I can prove it. Did she used to have an arc reactor?”

Pete stops chewing, then nods again. “Um, yeah, she did actually. After Iraq... She had it taken out a few years ago though.”

Without preamble, Tony sits up from the table, and lifts his shirt to show his scars. “See? I had one too.”

Pete sets what’s left of her sandwich down, and comes around to take a closer look. Tony normally hates when anyone scrutinizes his mangled chest, but he knows how important it is that Pete trusts him, so bites his tongue and lets her examine it as long as she needs. After about ten seconds, she steps away, and goes back to her plate.

Tony lowers his shirt. “Well?”

Pete shrugs. “Well, I believe you. How do we get out of here then?”

\--

“C’mon, Spider-Woman, c’mon!” Pete mutters to herself, pulling as hard as she can on her webs. Yet again, however, nothing happens.

Pete and Tony have spent all day doing whatever they can think of to break out of this prison, for lack of a better term. Pete had tried punching through the walls first, following by swinging around as best she could to slam into them with her legs, but for all her efforts there wasn’t even a dent made.

Next, she tried webbing up the bathroom sink and then the fridge and pulling on them with all her might - _the pipes have to go somewhere, right?_ \- but again, nothing. 

Pete was just as perplexed as Tony by the end, sitting down on the couch opposite him with a frustrated groan. “This doesn’t make any _sense_ , Mr. Stark! None of this should be any problem for me… I can’t figure out why it won’t work.”

Tony shakes his head. “Well, it was magic that brought me here in the first place, kid, so I imagine it probably has something to do with that. For all we know, it might even just be an illusion and here is just a construct in my mind.”

For not the first time, Tony wishes Strange were here. He could use the sorcerer’s expertise. 

Pete gnaws at her lip, not even bothering to hide how her frustration is slowly giving way to worry. “But if that’s the case then, where am I? And what’s happening at home? Do you think Ms. Stark is okay? And everyone else?”

Tony stands up then, coming to sit next to her, though not too close. He learned from yesterday’s Peter that it was probably best if he let the kid come to him first. “Pete, I’ve never met your Toni Stark, but I have a feeling she’s more than capable of taking care of herself, I really do. I also don’t think this has anything to do with your home. I think this is only really about messing with mine. And if this goes just like yesterday did, you’ll almost definitely wake up in your bed at the compound tomorrow morning, safe and sound.”

“But you can’t like, _know_ that, because you don’t know where the other Pete went from here, not for sure,” Pete argues, and Tony can see she’s getting pretty close to crying now.

“No,” Tony replies carefully, “you’re right, I can’t know that for sure. But I can hypothesize, right? And I know you can too, because you’re brilliant. Don’t you think we can safely assume that since I’m the one who got stuck here, that you and the other Peter are just temporary visitors?”

Pete wipes at her eyes, then says shakily, “Yeah, I guess so. I just want to go home. Ms. Stark’s probably losing her mind wondering what happened to me… I hope she hasn’t told Uncle Ben yet, or I’m really in for it.”

“Uncle Ben?” Tony says incredulously, before cringing at the tone. _Damn it Tony_.

“Yeah, Uncle Ben,” Pete says sharply. “Doesn’t your Peter have an Uncle Ben?”

Tony takes a deep breath. _Too late to take it back now_. “He… he did. But his uncle passed away, a few years ago now. It’s just him and his aunt now.”

At that Pete startles, inching a bit closer to Tony, her face one large expression of disbelief. “You mean... May is still...?”

“Yeah, kid, May is still kickin’.”

Pete opens and closes her mouth a few times. “Is she… is she okay? Is she happy?”

Tony smiles gently, and risks putting a comforting arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Yes, she’s happy. Well, at least as much as a woman who nearly burns down her apartment every month and who worries constantly about her danger-prone Spider-Kid can be. But yeah, she’s fine. Sure isn’t afraid to give me a piece of her mind when she wants to. Honestly, just between us? I’m more terrified of her than I am of the Hulk.”

Pete laughs, then draws her hands up to her mouth, as though hardly believing what just came out. Tony watches in growing terror as her face contorts into anguish. “Hey hey hey, now, it’s okay. C’mon kid, please don’t cry.”

Without thinking twice Tony pulls her into his arms, letting her cry into his shoulder. He rubs her back, murmuring words of comfort until finally the hiccuping sobs subside. It takes Tony a few minutes to realize that Pete isn’t just leaning on him for comfort anymore, but has actually fallen asleep.

“Oh kid,” Tony whispers, brushing some hair out of her face. Now that he’s allowed to look without judgment, it’s amazing to him just how much she resembles his Peter while still being so incredibly _not_ him at the same time. 

“I’m really in bizzarro world, huh, Pete?” he says softly to himself, not sure now which Pete he’s addressing anymore. The Pete currently in his arms stirs a bit, only to cuddle further into his embrace. After a few minutes he gently and slowly lifts them up just enough to get out from underneath her. He grabs bedding from the second bedroom, slipping a pillow underneath her head and covering her up snugly.

He turns out the living room lights, but before going to his bedroom he leans down to kiss her forehead. “Sweet dreams, kiddo. Get home safely now.”

\--

Tony wakes up to a loud crash. He stumbles out of bed as fast as he can, seeing his door is cracked a tiny bit. “Pete? You okay?”

There in the kitchen, is yet another Peter. He’s wearing a pair of ratty old skinny jeans and a long sleeve tight-knit shirt, and he’s covered in what looks like pancake mixture. Before Tony can say another word, Peter is already crouching down, trying to mop up the mess with a towel.

“Sorry, sorry! I was just trying to make breakfast, sir. I’ll clean it all up, I promise.”

Tony shakes his head, crossing the room and leaning down, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, kid - Peter, right? It’s okay, don’t worry about it. Why don’t you go get changed?” Tony nods to the second bedroom. “I can take care of this.”

Tony feels the kid’s form tremble slightly, but then he nods and gets up, disappearing from the main area without a second glance. Watching him go, Tony can’t help but notice how small this Peter is. Whereas his Peter is wiry but pure muscle, and Son Peter was more filled out, this one looks like a stiff breeze could blow him over. 

Tony gets to cleaning up the spilled mixture, and is just getting started on bacon and eggs when the kid reappears in a clean hoodie and jeans, sitting down at the table with his hands in his lap and chewing anxiously on one of the hood’s laces.

Tony finishes cooking in silence and sets down plates for both of them, before sitting himself across from Peter. The kid doesn’t look up, just keeps staring down at his lap. 

“So, uh, I’m sure you must be freaking out right now, and you probably have lots of questions-”

“Not really, sir.”

Tony’s tongue clicks once, twice. He can’t quite figure this Peter out and it’s starting to worry him. “You can call me Tony, kid. So, you’re not wondering why you’re here?”

Peter looks up then, shrugging a bit. “It’s not like it’s the first time Skip has just left me somewhere after I fall asleep when I’m supposed to be waiting up in the car for him to come back.”

 _Skip_. That name rings a bell in Tony’s head, but he can’t quite pinpoint where it’s tolling from. “Skip?”

“My foster dad? I’m assuming you must be a… friend… of his, right?”

Something about the way the kid says _friend_ doesn’t sit right with Tony, but he doesn’t want to make the kid even more wary than he already is, so he lets it be.

“Er, I wouldn’t exactly call us friends, no. You, uh, said you were waiting up for him? In a car?”

“Yeah, y’know, he just, took me out or whatever, trying to make some money…”

The kid is clearly dancing around something but for the life of him, Tony can’t figure out what it is. “And?”

“And sometimes I have to wait for him to find a good… deal before he needs me, s’all. But I guess I fell asleep and he decided to drop me with you. Who are you, anyway? Did you guys talk about when he’s coming back?”

Tony frowns, unsure if he should just go along with the kid’s assumptions or not. “Uh, yeah, he’s coming back tomorrow morning. Your name is Peter, right?”

Peter nods, and Tony notices now how he’s eyeing the plate of food closely. He chuckle softly, waving at the plate. “Dig in, kid. I made it for you, after all.”

\--

After breakfast Peter asks if he can turn on the television, and the two of them settle on the couches to watch reruns of _The Golden Girls_. Tony can feel the kid eyeing him every few minutes, but every time he glances up to catch his gaze Peter whips his head back to the TV. After a few hours of this silent back-and-forth, Tony can’t take it anymore and decides to throw caution to the wind. 

“So, how long have you lived with Skip?”

“Four years or so,” the kid answers, not looking at him. “My aunt and uncle were killed when the government nuked New York in 2012. I’ve lived with Skip ever since.”

Tony makes an involuntary gasp, but bites down the dozens of questions he wants to ask in the wake of the kid’s monotone pronouncement. _The kid thinks you’re part of his world. Don’t blow your cover_. “And is it just the two of you?”

“Nah. I have two younger foster brothers, Daniel and Logan.”

“Ah. Are they much younger than you or-” 

Peter’s head whips around to face Tony for the first time in over three hours, his expression harder than it’s been since Tony found him covered in pancake batter. “They’re eight and eleven, they’re just _kids_ , and they don’t…” Peter takes a steadying breath. “Look, it’s my job to look out for them. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe.”

Everything in Tony is screaming at him to pursue Peter’s odd reaction to Tony’s innocent question, but he ignores his instincts in favor of changing the subject. “That’s, that’s great, Peter. So, I’m getting rather tired of _Golden Girls_ , myself. Do you want to play a game?”

Peter’s eyes start to dart all around the room. “What kind of game?”

Tony waves to the desk. “Check the drawer there. We can play whatever you want.”

Peter looks over to the desk, and Tony sees his Adam’s Apple bob nervously. Tony wants to ask him what’s wrong, what’s actually going on in his head - in his life - that has him so tense, but before he can the kid is off the couch and walking over to the desk.

He opens the drawer tentatively, and though his expression is covered by the hoodie, Tony can see his posture visibly relax as he takes in the contents. Peter grabs a box and returns to his couch, setting it down on the coffee table. “How about some chess?”

\--

Two games later, Tony has to admit the kid is a formidable opponent. He makes a mental note to ask his Peter if he likes to play when he gets back home. 

Tony cooks them a dinner of chicken and rice that night, but before he’s halfway done with his plate the kid is already standing up and washing his own in the sink, the food barely even touched. 

“I was wondering if I could use the phone, please?”

Tony chokes a bit on his chicken, mind racing with logical ways to explain away the faulty phone. The kid hadn’t seemed to notice the lack of windows or doors thus far, or if he had he didn’t mention it. Maybe he assumed there was a door through Tony’s bedroom? But yeah, explaining the lack of any way to talk with the outside world might be a bit... difficult.

“Who do you need to call? Skip?”

“Nah. I told Danny and Logan I’d call them if we weren’t back to pick them up by tonight, just to check in. They’re with Nana Westcott.”

 _Westcott_. Tony drops his fork. It must clatter on his plate but he doesn't hear it. 

_Westcott_. He feels his entire body go numb, then cold. 

Because, Tony knows that name. That’s the name of the older teenager who sexually abused Peter when he was only a child. Not long after the truth of Spider-Man had come out, May had asked Tony to meet with her in private. She’d told him all about what had happened, how Peter’s babysitter, an 18 year-old named Steven “Skip” Westcott, had taken advantage of Peter. How for _months_ Peter had kept quiet about it. 

\--

_“He would be livid if he knew I was telling you this, Mr. Stark,” May said. “But even though he thinks he’s already practically an adult and he’s fine, he’s still very much a child, and one who is still recovering. I thought it best if you knew.”_

_Tony nodded tightly, his fists clenched. “And where is this piece of shit now?”_

_“Prison,” May replied, her voice sharp. “But not before Ben got to him.”_

_“Good,” Tony had said, his voice just as full of steely venom._

\--

“Tony?”

“What?” Tony says, the memory fading from his mind’s eye. The kid is staring at him now, looking tense again.

“Can I use the phone?”

“I’m sorry Peter, but I’m afraid not,” Tony says, picking up his fork and trying to stab at a piece of chicken before giving up entirely and taking his plate to the sink. He’s lost his appetite anyway. “I mean, you can try, but last I checked the phone was broken. Just static.”

Peter sags against the kitchen counter. “Oh,” he says softly. “Okay.”

Tony busies himself washing the dishes, trying hard to hide his trembling hands. It’s all starting to make horrifying sense, and he’s struggling to come to grips with the ramifications. He sees now with terrible clarity what Peter’s earlier statements were hinting at… asking if Tony was a “friend” of Skip’s, telling him that Skip had taken Peter out in the car to make “deals”, forcefully pressing upon him that his brothers are just kids and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe, as though whatever Peter is protecting them from is inherently _unsafe_. 

The longer he sits with the knowledge the more his panic grows rather than abates.

Because although he wants nothing more than to take this Peter and hide him away from the universe - to keep him here somehow until Tony can figure out a way to save him - he has no fucking idea how to do that. Being so utterly helpless is almost more than he can handle, and Tony has to stop himself from smashing the last dish as he finishes cleaning it. 

_Fuck. Fuck. FUCK._

He can feel Peter’s eyes on him again, and as soon as he’s done he turns around and looks at the kid head-on. Peter is watching him nervously for the millionth time that day, and Tony can see in his eyes now what that particular expression means. He thinks Tony is a predator, that all this kindness is simply leading to something that Peter can’t control and doesn’t want.

That he can’t protect himself from.

 _Well, shit_. Tony may not be able to do anything else, but he can dismiss that notion at least.

“Kid,” Tony starts. “Peter. I’m going to say this as plainly as I can manage and while I don’t expect you to believe me, I want you to know that I mean every word, okay?”

Peter nods slowly a few times, his hands disappearing into the front pocket of his hoodie.

“Look. I want you to know in no uncertain terms that absolutely _nothing_ is expected of you tonight, okay? If you want to stay up all night watching Dorothy and Rose bicker, you can. Or if you want to go to bed right now, in your own room by yourself, that’s fine too. Your… your _foster dad_ didn’t drop you off here for anything more than a safe place to stay, alright? Nothing more, nothing less. Do you understanding what I’m trying to say?”

Peter is staring at him now, eyes wide. He hardly seems to be breathing, and Tony worries for a moment if he went too far, if maybe he should have just said nothing and then followed through by simply asking for nothing as well.

But Peter nods again once, then twice. “That’s… I get it. So, uh, can I just hang out in my room then until Skip comes back, if that’s okay?”

Tony sighs softly, and he wants so badly to let the tears behind his eyes fall at how timidly the kid makes such a simple request. He wants nothing more than to walk the short distance to this Peter and wrap his arms around this poor kid who should never have had to deal with any of this. 

But he can’t let himself lose it right now. He can’t take a chance of scaring the kid, not after all he’s been through and, _fucking hell_ , will probably go through again. He deserves one night where _he_ is the one in control, and nobody else. Not even Tony, who would protect him at all costs if he could.

“Sure kid, of course.”

\--

The light from under Peter’s door goes out around a quarter past ten. Tony waits an hour before he very carefully and quietly cracks the kid’s door open. Part of him doesn’t want to risk potentially scaring the teen, but a larger part of him - the part that is still one second away from a panic attack - simply has to see Peter, to remind himself with his own eyes that at least for now, this Peter is safe. 

Luckily, like he counted on, the kid is conked out and snoring softly into his pillow. Tony watches him from the doorway for ten minutes, then twenty, letting the kid’s deep breaths seep into his blood and calm his racing heart. 

“I’m so sorry kiddo,” Tony whispers just as he closes the door to go rest in his own bed once more.

 _I would do anything to save you if I just knew how_.

\--

When Tony wakes up the next morning, the place is quiet. In fact it’s so deafeningly quiet, Tony wonders sleepily for a moment if the silence is what woke him. He can sense there’s a shift in the air, and his entire body is tense as he turns on the lamp and changes before slowly opening his bedroom door.

The main room is shrouded in darkness, but Tony can make out a figure at the kitchen table, sitting still as a statue.

“Peter?”

There’s no reply, and Tony fumbles for one of the side lamps. He flicks it on, and what he sees before him makes his breath catch in his throat.

At the kitchen table sits a teenage boy, and there’s no doubt it’s Peter. Same brown eyes, same angular cheekbones, same delicate nose and mouth… but where his head of curls should be, his hair is sheared down nearly to his skull. Moreover, he is dressed in all black, in what appears to be a modified version of his Spider-Man suit, with sleek silver web-shooters on both wrists.

However, to Tony’s growing horror, that’s not even the worst of it. For stretching from behind his left ear and spreading all across his cheek to only millimeters from his left eye and and the corner of his mouth, is one of the worst burn scars Tony has ever seen.

_Oh god. God. Peter - what the hell - who -_

The shock on Tony’s face must be apparent, because Peter cocks his head slightly, an eerily mirthless smirk forming, and only then does Tony notice the glint of something sharp and metallic in his hand. 

“Heya, Tony. Long time, no see.”

Peter tosses one of the kitchen’s steak knives into the air, catching it with a preternatural ease, his eyes never moving from Tony’s. He lazily points the knife at the chair opposite him. “Come sit down, won’t you?”

The smirk morphs into a predatory grin. “We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to chat more about Irondad? Come find me on tumblr.


	3. The Iron and the Spider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So all the angst I said to buckle up for in my tags? And that character death? It happens here, folks. 
> 
> Specific warnings include: descriptions of aftermath of torture, and a drug overdose.

Tony doesn’t take his eyes off the knife as he walks toward the table, pulling the chair out and slowly sitting down. He can’t help the constant thought of _this isn’t right this isn’t right this isn’t Peter_ but the boy before him proves those thoughts mere wishes.

“Peter. _Kid_. What happened to you?”

At the endearment of _kid_ Peter’s eyes go cold, his grin falling into an emotionless mask – _or maybe the grin was the mask?_ – before he responds. “Ah, but we’ve been over that once before, Tony. In this very place, in fact. Don’t you remember?”

Tony opens his mouth, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but then snaps it shut again. Because from the first moment he’d woken up here, this place had seemed familiar, like he’d visited - or dreamt of - it before. Tony had chalked it up to a weird case of déjà vu, but maybe…

“Are you saying I’ve been trapped here before?”

“No,” Peter replies, tossing the knife into the air once more. “You’re weren’t trapped here. You got to wake up in your own bed the next day, safe and sound. I was the one who was stuck.”

Tony tries to stifle a gulp but fails. The only thing worse than being stuck here himself is the idea of his Peter being here in his place. “And?”

“And you were one of the Tony’s that showed up here one day.”

“How do you know that?”

Peter glances down at his chest. “Your arc reactor is missing, and the scars match. There was another Tony who had similar scarring, but since you still have _that_ ” – Peter motions to Tony’s left arm – “I’m pretty sure you’re not him.” There’s about a dozen questions Tony wants to ask at that statement, but before he can respond Peter continues, “Anyway, getting off topic. How long have you been here?”

“You’re the fourth version of the kid, so four days, give or take.”

Peter whistles. “You got lucky, Stark, meeting me so early on. It was weeks before I met a Tony who knew how to get out of this shithole.”

Despite the wrongness of this Peter, Tony can’t help the bubble of hope that grows at his words. “You know how to get out?”

Peter nods, his smirk back in place.

“Well?” Tony asks, his patience wearing thin. “What do I have to do?”

“Quite simple, really,” Peter says, tossing the weapon again, only this time he flings it right past Tony’s head. The _thud_ that cuts the silence when it embeds itself in the wall makes Tony jump.

“You just have to kill one of us.”

\--

“ _What?_ ” Tony says, a hysterical chuckle breaking the surface despite himself. It sounds like a laugh track to his ears, like it’s coming from a sitcom and not from himself. “I don’t think I heard you correctly, kid.”

Peter rolls his eyes and stands up, walking over to the knife and pulling it out of the wall. “You heard me, Stark. You have to kill one of us, and then you’ll wake up right back in your universe, back with your no-doubt _precious_ Peter.”

Tony can feel his head shaking back and forth. “No way. Nope. Not gonna happen. I’m _not_ doing that.”

“Then you’ll be stuck here forever, I guess,” Peter says simply, sitting down again. “No skin off my nose, I’ll be gone after tonight anyway.”

Tony takes a closer look at Peter, searching for any remnant of the kid back home. But where his Peter is all good and lightness (albeit with a side of hard-earned maturity), this one is only rough edges and barely-contained bitterness. The scar on his face glows like mercury when hit at the right light, and it’s taking everything in Tony not to run to the sink and puke his guts out right now. “Kid… _Peter_. Please, just tell me. What happened to you?”

Peter’s lips thin, and Tony can feel the simmering rage coiled beneath his faux indifference. “Why do you care? I’m not your Peter. I’m not your _kid_. I’m literally nothing to you.”

Tony shakes his head. “That’s not true. All of you are still _Peter_ –“

“Did you take away the suit?”

Tony’s confusion must be apparent on his face, because two seconds later Peter goes on, “Did you take away the suit? After the ferry split? Did you send your stupid, _naive_ Peter home in some useless pajamas, without any protection from what was coming? _Did you?_ ”

Tony swallows, not liking where this is leading. “I did. But that was years ago now, and we’re far past that. Toomes is in prison and-“

Peter slams his hand down on the table, making Tony wince, and then points a finger at him. “See, _my_ Stark, he took away the suit too. Some bullshit about needing to realize my self-worth. And just like you, he tried to give it back to me too. But not until _after_ the plane crashed on Coney Island and the Vulture got away. Not until _after_ I was burned so badly that I passed out behind an alley dumpster for 36 hours.”

Peter stands up then, leaning over the table. His face is now inches from Tony’s, and his next words are barely more than a venomous whisper. “Not until after I came home to find May _in pieces_ all over the apartment, with a message from Toomes written out _in her blood_.”

Tony can feel distantly that he’s crying, but his mind is still stuck on _alley_ and _36 hours_ and _May_ and _pieces_ and _blood_. “Peter. Peter. Jesus kid, I’m – I’m so sorry. I’m _so_ sorry.”

Peter’s jaw twitches, and for a moment Tony is worried the knife in his left hand is about to end up in Tony’s gut. But instead he leans back to sit down, and casually tosses the weapon back in the air once more.

Tony doesn’t think the moment could get any more horrific, but then Peter grins, and there’s no doubting the pure malice in his expression this time. “Don’t be sorry. It worked out for you and your Peter in the end, didn’t it? As for me, it took some time, but I got Toomes back in kind.”

And at that, any further questions Tony has die on his tongue.

\--

After the horror show that was that morning's conversation, the day is spent mostly in silence. Peter spends hours playing with the knife, every _thud_ when it hits its mark causing Tony to startle just as much as the first time. The kid only puts the weapon down to either eat or play solitaire, but it’s never out of his reach.

At first Tony thinks it’s because he wants Tony to feel threatened, but after catching the kid watching him with narrowed eyes for the umpteenth time, he starts to think maybe it’s because Peter is afraid of _him_.

He wonders what else he did to let this version of Peter down, to irrevocably fuck things up so badly. _As if letting May get slaughtered wasn’t bad enough_ , Tony thinks, grimacing.

Around ten, the kid finally looks over from his current game of solitaire to where Tony is sitting on the couch, his head bobbing from exhaustion. “Go lay down, Stark.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m not resting until I’m safe and away from you.”

Tony shakes his head, but stands up and walks over to his bedroom. On impulse he pauses and turns in the doorway. “Peter, I know you have good reason not to, but trust me when I say that I would never knowingly bring you harm. I just… I hope you know how sorry I am. You don’t deserve any of what’s happened to you.”

“Aww, Stark, you’re nothing if not predictable,” Peter responds with fake fondness. “That’s what you said the night I broke into your lab and stole my suit back along with all your Spider-Man specs. So, I’ll tell you what I told him as he lay webbed to a wall, bleeding from a very _unfortunate_ shoulder wound.”

Peter turns over another card, slots it into its proper place. “The Peter you think I still am? That Peter is _dead_. He died the same moment he learned that trust only gets you killed. And if there’s anyone I trust least of all, Stark, it’s you.”

Tony has somehow avoided being haunted by nightmares since he arrived in this unique hell. Tonight, he knows, will be an exception.

\--

“Oh my god. Oh my _god_ , Ned is not going to _believe_ this-“

Tony wakes up to someone shaking him awake by his shoulder. He blinks his eyes open to find Peter by his bedside, looking far too excited for how early it is. He’s wearing plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt that reads BE LIKE A PROTON: POSITIVE WHEN SURROUNDED BY NEGATIVES.

With the way he’s staring at Tony, he’s afraid the kid might pass out on him.

“Mr. Tony – er, Mr. Stark? Mr. Iron Man, sir?”

“Yeah, kid, that’s me,” he says, sitting up and trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

“Oh my god. I was freaking out when I woke up but then I found you and it’s like, whoa Iron Man is here and _holy cow_. I never thought I’d ever get to meet you in person but, here you are and here I am, and can I say it’s an honor to meet you and also do you know where here is by the way? Because I’ve been looking around and I can’t find a door or window or anything – are you like, on a mission –“

It’s already very obvious that this is the closest to _his_ Peter Tony’s met so far, and he can’t help the overwhelming sense of fondness and relief that wells up in him as the kid blabbers on.

“- and the last thing I remember is giving Morgan good night hugs, then I stayed up reading a book but I must’ve fallen asleep and I don’t really remember anything after –“

He stands up and takes Peter by the shoulders. “Whoa, kid, slow down. What’s your name?”

Peter takes a deep breath. “Peter Parker, at your service, Mr. Stark.”

“Hi, Peter Parker,” Tony says, smiling. “Where do you live? Queens?”

“Queens? No, but I have family there. I live in Phoenix with my parents and my little sister.”

There’s a pause and then Peter stands up a little bit straighter and proclaims, “And I’m sixteen, but like, a _really_ mature sixteen. I even skipped a grade.”

Tony looks down, trying to hide his smirk. It only takes two seconds of thought for him to come to a decision about how today is going to go. “Okay, Peter. Well, you weren’t wrong, I _am_ on a mission. But I guess I must have gotten kidnapped because I don’t know how either of us ended up here. But I had only just arrived in Arizona before I felt a prick in my neck, so I’m sure we’re still someplace near your home. I bet the other Avengers will find us in no time, but how about we take another look together around the place?”

“Sure! I woke up in a different bedroom, I’ll show you.”

The look of pure adoration on Peter’s face as he motions for Tony to follow has the man’s neck warming up. He hates lying to the kid but he knows it’s best to just let this Peter’s assumptions about their situation lie. He has a pretty good feeling the kid has never visited another universe before, and explaining it all just sounds so exhausting when it won’t make a difference except to upset the teenager.

\--

An hour later they’re both sitting on the couches. Peter is a bit more subdued - the fact that they’re well and trapped seeming to have sunk in - but he’s still looking at Tony like he’s the second coming of Christ. It reminds Tony of his Peter when he first met him - before he stole him away to Germany - and the pang of longing at that thought makes his heart ache.

_Please be okay, kid._

“So, kid, I guess we’re stuck here until someone comes to retrieve us. It’ll be me they want - they’re not going to be looking to hurt you, there’s no reason. And if they are, they’ll have to get through me first, okay?”

Peter smiles. “You don’t have to tell me _that_ , Mr. Stark. You’re Iron Man, the bravest of all the Avengers, the Hero of the Battle of New York, the –“

Tony laughs. “I get it Pete. And thanks, but if you keep going on like that you’ll make my ego double in size, and I won’t hear the end of it from Cap. So for now, I’m just Tony, okay?”

Peter nods enthusiastically. “Okay, Mr. St-Tony.”

Tony chuckles. “You hungry, kid?”

\--

The day ends up being by far the best one Tony’s had since he woke up in this prison. Despite the situation – in which any kid in their right mind would be terrified – this Peter has so much faith in Tony that he hardly seems affected by their circumstances. They cook lunch together, then follow it up with playing every board game in the desk drawer. When they finally crash on the couches, it only takes ten minutes of a _Golden Girls_ episode for Tony to discover this Peter is just as much a fan of the show as his own.

As they get ready to go to bed, it’s Peter who asks if he can sleep in Tony’s room, saying he’s still kind of nervous and doesn’t want to be far away from where he feels safe. And it’s Tony who initiates a hug, one Peter gladly accepts, trust and sincere admiration practically oozing out his ears.

That night Tony finds himself watching the kid in his sleep, unable to look away. Seeing this Peter, who has never suffered through being tragically orphaned, who never held his uncle as he bled out, who has a _little sister_... it both makes Tony unbelievably happy and yet unbearably sad. Because this right here? This is what he’s always wanted for the kid. To have it so close at hand but still just out of reach for his own Peter twists a part of him that he hasn’t ever had to acknowledge before. But if he had to put a word to it, he supposes it would be 'mourning'.

Because he’s mourning the life his kid always deserved but never got to have. And he’d give anything to give it to him. Even if it meant he was never Spider-Man, and that Tony never knocked on his front door.

Even if it meant Tony never knew that this truly amazing kid existed, he’d still give it to him if he could.

Tony’s last waking thought is that maybe, that’s what loving someone really means.

\--

The next few weeks pass by in a haze. Every day there’s a new Peter, and every day Tony has to play the Questions Game before figuring out how to proceed. 

Some Peters know him personally. He meets a few who are also Spider-Man, with life stories not too dissimilar to his own kid’s. He even meets one who is “just an intern,” but after the kid manages to catch with only one hand a pot Tony just _happened_ to drop, he’s pretty sure he’s hiding a certain secret from his own Tony. Or, who knows, maybe his Mr. Stark knows the truth and is just humoring him; Tony has yet to meet a Peter who can lie with any skill.

He encounters yet other Peters who only know of him, or in some cases, his legacy. There’s one who has only read about him in tabloids, with the latest “news” claiming he fathered triplets following a casual dalliance with a stripper. Another Peter who says he’s been dead since the 2010 Expo attack, and yet another who has only vaguely heard of the now shuttered Stark Industries but is well acquainted with its successor, Stane Weapons Manufacturing.

One morning, Tony wakes up to find himself alone. He tries to imagine a world without Peter Parker in it, and spends the whole day on the couch wishing he had a bottle of scotch.

Every night he thinks about what the scarred version of Peter had said, about what he has to do to get out. But every morning he wakes up to a new Peter and the idea of hurting any one of them is so abhorrent - so completely, utterly, freakishly _wrong_ \- that he never even considers it in their presence.

Because it doesn’t matter which Peter visits; he loves and would protect them all. And as badly as he wants to get back to his own universe and his own brilliant, danger-prone, wonderful kid, he won’t sacrifice a different kid to do it. He simply can’t.

He’ll just have to find another way.

\--

The sound of a hard smack on the other side of his bedroom wall has Tony up and stumbling out of bed before he’s even completely registered the sound. He enters Peter’s bedroom and flicks on the light. 

There in the far corner, mumbling incoherently, is the newest Peter. His head is shaved, but the hair is growing back unevenly and the scalp is scabbed over, like someone sheared his curls forcefully and with no care for the child it was being inflicted upon. He’s wearing a set of filthy and threadbare t-shirt and pants, and only upon seeing them does Tony connect the boy to the pungent smell in the air - the smell of sweat, blood and decay. But the worst part, the absolute _worst_ part are the wounds all over him. Tony can see deep cuts, dark bruises, and small blackened burns, and from the dried blood decorating the clothing he knows there’s a lot more he can’t see. Some look deliberate, others less so. All are in various states of healing, scabbing or scarring, with a few that are obviously infected, pus leaking out. 

The kid has clearly been starved. His collar bones jut out from the neckline of his thin shirt, and Tony can make out every bone in his tiny wrists. His eyes are sunken, and one is swollen over, either from constant crying or from injury, Tony isn’t sure. 

Tony stares in shock for a few moments, his brain not really processing what he’s seeing even as his knees threaten to buckle from the sight. He just knows that it’s wrong and it’s unspeakable and it’s taking everything in him not to lose his shit at the atrocities that have been committed against his kid. 

“Look away spider look _away_ , into the woods into the dark,” Peter mumbles, then louder as he turns his head back in the direction of Tony, “the ants are on the ship the ants are leaving always _leaving_ -”

His eyes travel up to take in Tony’s face and he is quite for a few seconds, before a keening sound erupts from him and he skitters back as far into the corner as he can, making himself as small as possible.

“Peter,” Tony croaks, slowly getting down on the floor and opening his arms wide. “C’mon buddy, it’s me, it’s Tony. You know me, right? Come here, kiddo.”

But at this Peter only cries, “ _No no no_ don’t touch the spider or the ants will leave and the worms - the worms will _crawl_ \- “

Tony immediately scuttles back, trying to give Peter room. “Peter, kid, please tell me what happened to you? Who did this?”

Peter swallows again, staring at a point about three feet to Tony’s right, before he continues in almost a sing-song lilt, “the grey man stole the spider to the metal ship and put the collar on spider and _you are mine_ and they cut-stab-cut-stab the spider and ate of him for three days and three nights and left the spider in the cold room to come back and then they cut the spider up and ate of him for three days and three nights and -”

Tony drops his face into his hands. Peter isn’t making much sense, but there’s a horrifying picture that’s forming in Tony’s head all the same. Because he knows of a grey man with a metal ship and collars. A man he didn’t think he could detest more, but now...

Tony has to turn away from Peter at that and cover his mouth with a hand, sure he’s about to be sick. 

_Get it together. For Peter._

Peter is rambling again about ants when Tony faces him once more and tentatively asks, “Peter, where is Tony? Am I with you? On the metal ship?”

Peter goes silent again, then his hands go to his cheeks and he scratches at himself, mewling. 

“Peter, no-”

“The iron was so _hot_ , like burning but everything was so loud, so loud and spider hid, spider _cried_ until it was silent and then iron was warm until iron was cold and the ants, the ants left iron and came to spider and the worms joined with iron and the bad men came and took iron and spider was _alone_ with the worms and the ants, the ants who will _leave the ship_ -”

“How long, Peter? How long have I - has the iron been gone?”

“-days and days and night and nights, they _cut-stab_ the spider and ate of him for three days and three nights, and again and again and again and again until the moon had come to see the ants two hundred, two hundred times two, two hundred times three, two hundred times f-”

Tony can’t hold it back any longer. He leans over and vomits onto the wood floor, Peter’s sing-song ramblings not missing a beat.

\--

Tony sits in the kitchen, in the dark. He can still faintly hear Peter in the other room, always mumbling but sometimes also scratching at the walls. All day Tony had tried to coax Peter out of the corner, but Peter would not move and if Tony came within even eight feet of him he would start screaming and scrabbling as though trying to climb, only to fall back to the floor in exhaustion and weakness not moments later. Tony wasn’t even sure he could stand anymore, his muscles were so atrophied.

Tony doesn’t know what they did to dampen his powers, but he knows it couldn’t have possibly been anything humane. 

But he’s moved beyond dwelling on that anymore, because on the table in front of Tony is a glass of Nestle chocolate milk. _Peter’s favorite_ , Tony thinks, tears cascading down his face.

And next to the chocolate milk, is a small bowl of white powder. Tony glances at it with disgust, nevermind it was his hands who made the powder from pills he found in a first aid kit under the bathroom sink. 

_The iron took the pills and crushed them into white sand and now will pour the sand into the glass and gift it to spider-_

Tony laughs mirthlessly. How long had Peter lasted at the raft before their torture broke his mind? Because it hasn’t even been a day and Tony is already certain he is going insane. 

_You can’t send him back. Not there. You can’t._

“Jesus, I can’t do this,” he whispers, barely holding back his sobs. “God, please, don’t make me do this.”

_You have to_ , his mind supplies. _You simply must. For him._

\--

Tony sets the glass down as close as he dares to Peter, who is still cowering in the corner. Some of his wounds are bleeding sluggishly where they have reopened, or maybe he scratched open new ones, Tony isn’t sure. 

“Peter, look. I made your favorite,” he whispers, plastering a welcoming smile on his face. “See, see? I made you chocolate milk, just the way you like it.” 

Tony backs away to the door and sits down, palms facing up, trying to convey safety and kindness. 

It doesn’t take as long as Tony thought it would for Peter to grab the glass. 

_Maybe he’s starting to trust me_ , Tony thinks, and the crushing guilt threatens to overwhelm him as Peter sniffs at the glass, looking at Tony questioningly. 

Tony wants to scream. 

But he doesn't. He only nods, smiling, hoping Peter can’t see the tear tracks, can’t see the _lie_. 

Peter tips his head back and downs the glass in three gulps. For the first time all day, Tony sees the tiniest of smiles on his face, perhaps from the sense memory of tasting his favorite drink from happier days now long gone. 

He licks his lips, setting the glass back down, then tentatively slides it across the floor toward Tony. 

Tony doesn’t reach for it, just watches Peter, murmuring reassurances. 

It happens quickly after that, the kid leaning first and then sagging fully against the wall. He tries to move his arms but can’t seem to get them more than a few inches off the ground, and a desperate small cry tears out of him as he looks over to Tony, his eyes leaking betrayal. 

Tony crawls over to him then, and the cries become more frequent even as they grow weaker, the pills starting to do their job in earnest now. 

Tony pulls Peter into his arms - _finally_ \- and cradles him, stroking his cheek gently. Peter tries to fight him but he has nowhere near the strength anymore, his body succumbing to the weight of the drugs. 

Tony holds Peter close, stroking his forehead, humming a tune his mother used to play on the piano when he was a young boy. Tony holds Peter and says things he won’t remember later, things like _rest, baby_ and _it’s okay_ and _I’m here_. 

Tony holds Peter and whispers words of comfort until the boy’s cries die out, and his eyes close, and his breath slows, and his heartbeat grows faint. 

Tony holds him and thinks of Peter back home, of how not even ten thousand hugs from his kid could blot out the stain on his soul for the atrocious act he’s committed just now. 

“Oh _god_ , Peter, I’m so sorry, god, I’m sorry, you are so _loved_ Peter, you are so-” 

There’s a flash of white, Peter and the room fading away, then nothing. 

\--

_Tony?_

_Tony, can you hear us?_

_He’s definitely coming to. Nat, can you grab the-_

_-Tony, open your eyes. C’mon, open your eyes-_

_-jeez Steve, give him some breathing space-_

_C’mon Tony-_

\--

Tony blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the light. The smell of antiseptic is strong, and he knows immediately he’s in the medbay. 

The first face he sees is Steve, who has a habit of hovering too close when a teammate is injured. 

“Tony? Tony can you hear me?” 

“Yes, I can hear you,” Tony whispers, his voice cracking, taking in the room. Clint is there too, and Nat a little behind him. He tries to sit up but is immediately pushed back by Steve. 

“Tony, just wait a minute, you need to get looked over-” 

Tony foregoes the curse on his tongue. “Steve, I’m fine, I’m good. Is Peter okay?” 

Even after just waking up after god knows how long, there is no way to miss how the atmosphere in the room shifts at his question. No way to miss the way Clint’s face falls, or how Nat’s earlier tentative smile goes blank. He turns to Steve, who has always given him bad news straight-no-chaser, at least when it doesn’t involve Bucky Barnes. 

_The iron found the spider..._

“Steve, where’s Peter?" 

“Tony…” Steve begins, but seems at a loss to continue. He’s saved by Cho walking in. She’s in a fairly clean standard lab coat over blue scrubs, but Tony doesn’t miss the flecks of blood that are dotted on the underclothing. 

_The iron promised to always look out for the spider and keep him safe..._

“Tony, I’m glad to see you awake,” she says, but her expression remains wary. 

“Helen, how is Peter?” Tony asks, because he simply has to know. Good or bad news, he has to know. 

“He’s alive,” Cho responds, “but, there’s been some complications. Tony, he’s... Peter’s in a coma.” 

_The iron failed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come join me on tumblr at blondsak.tumblr.com! I pretty much post just irondad/spider-man content, and occasionally library memes.


	4. Fates Worse Than Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last full chapter before the fluffy epilogue! A special thanks to @geekymoviemom for helping me out with some of the medical aspects of this chapter. I'm sure I still got a lot wrong though, so please forgive any inaccuracies.
> 
> No warnings for this chapter, besides the usual angst.

Everyone in the room visibly tenses at Cho’s words, watching Tony as though waiting for him to pounce off the bed and or burst into tears.

Tony does neither, just sits dumbly for a second, trying to process. “A coma,” he finally repeats back at her. “But there was no head wound… h-how - what happened?”

“The coma isn’t from a head injury,” Cho responds. “It’s a result of lack of oxygen following a cardiac arrest. Captain Rogers, do you mind-?”

Steve, who is still at Tony’s side, sighs. “It took us some time to take care of the sorcerer, Tony. Peter was pretty frantic when you were knocked out and I assumed you’d taken the worst of it. He never told us...” Steve pauses, his jaw clenching. “We weren’t able to get to you both for far too long, to the say the least.”

It surprises even Tony - glancing around to see expressions of guilt on all his friend’s faces - how quickly he responds. “It’s not your fault. Evil Merlin took out Wong, Strange and myself in a matter of minutes. I’m kind of amazed you apprehended him at all.”

Steve nods appreciatively, but still looks grim. “Anyway, we eventually managed to subdue the man and left him in Dr. Strange’s care. By the time we got to you guys, Peter… It wasn’t good, Tony. He looked like he had more blood on him than _in_ him. We got you both to the quinjet, but by then he was no longer responding. Clint and I did our best, but... on the way here we - well, we lost him.”

At those words Tony startles. The very idea of Peter dying… it was incomprehensible. His gaze darts over to Cho. “But you got him back? I mean, you got his heart restarted?”

“We did,” Cho says with conviction. “But you must understand, in these situations it can take some time. As Captain Rogers said, he had suffered significant blood loss. We had to pump him full of fluids first to increase his blood pressure before we got him back. By then I estimate it’d been at least eight minutes without proper oxygen flow to his brain, and the damage had been done.”

Tony opens his mouth, only to shut it again with a hard swallow as he tries to muster the courage for the question that mattered most. A question he isn’t sure he wants answered.

“Is he going to wake up?”

“We conducted initial tests as soon as we got him off the operating table - we had to rush him into surgery immediately after getting his heart restarted, to remove the foreign object and repair the damage to his chest cavity as best we could.” Cho pauses, choosing her next words carefully. “And those tests, I’m afraid, show significant brain damage.”

Tony felt his body seize up. “No, no. Please tell me he can –“

“Honestly, Tony, if he were an unenhanced human, I would feel fairly confident - given how long his brain was without oxygen - that a persistent vegetative state was the most optimistic scenario. But with Peter’s mutation, there is every chance his healing factor could correct this as it does with the rest of his body. I’ve just sent him out for secondary testing, to see if there is any improvement.”

Tony takes a deep breath, not wanting to lose it in front of so many people.

Dr. Cho, perhaps sensing his distress, softly adds, “Don’t lose heart, Tony. With Peter, anything is possible.”

\--

After Cho’s declaration, she conducted some basic cognitive tests on Tony - "Dr. Strange explained your unresponsive state, but I must exercise full caution" - before prescribing him a few more hours of bedrest and swiftly exiting to check on Peter. Tony had tried to argue that he needed to be with the kid but his argument was shut down with little mercy.

“I’m sure she’ll let you see him tonight, Tony,” Steve reassures after Cho leaves, followed quickly by Nat and Clint.

“Yeah, about that… what time is it? How long has it been since the fight?”

Steve glances at his watch. “It’s six in the morning, so about twenty hours since we arrived here at the tower.”

Tony chuckles, but there was no joy in it. “It was weeks for me.”

Steve’s brow furrows. “Weeks?”

“Yeah,” Tony replies. “That wizard, he didn’t just knock me unconscious. He sent me to an entirely different plane of existence. Out here it was only hours, but in my head it was almost a month.”

“Shit, Tony,” Steve cries, his eyes widening as he takes in Tony’s words. “What were you doing in there all that time?”

“I…” Tony trails off, unsure if he’s prepared yet to share what happened. What he had to _do_.

Steve nods, a subtle encouragement.

After a few beats, Tony replies with the only thing that feels right and true. “I was trying to get back to my P- to Peter. I was trying to get back to my kid.”

\--

Steve had left him so he could get some rest, but after over an hour of lying in bed staring at the ceiling Tony decided he was tired of waiting. He climbed to his feet, hastily putting on the hoodie and sweats that had clearly been left for him, and made his way into the medbay hallway. It was fairly obvious which room was Peter’s, as there was only one other room with light streaming out. Tony gingerly makes his way down the hall, worried about getting caught even though he technically wasn’t doing anything he wasn’t allowed to. It was his medbay, after all.

He steps in to find May already in place beside Peter’s bedside. She looks frazzled, her hair and clothing a bit askew and her eyes red-rimmed. He hadn’t even given May one thought this entire time, and immediately feels guilt well up in his chest.

“Tony!” May cries, standing up as he steps inside the room and giving him a hug. “Steve didn’t think you’d be up for a few hours yet.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Tony says, and though his tone was casual, the look of understanding on May’s face says she knows exactly why he wasn’t still resting. “How is he?”

May turns to look to Peter, and Tony takes the moment to really take the kid in.

Peter is laid out on the bed, more still than Tony has ever seen him. He has a sheet and blanket that cover him up to his hips, and it’s immediately clear why. Covering his entire right flank is a large swath of bandages, a tube jutting out from between some of the folds. He’s hooked up to at least five monitors, most of which Tony can decipher the readings of but some he can’t. There’s a clear mask over his mouth and nose. His face is pale, a stark contrast to a pair of dark bruises on his left cheek and jaw.

Despite the circumstances, Tony can’t help the relief he feels at being in the same room with the kid. After weeks of being away, he’s finally back with Peter. With _his_ Peter.

It’s still a dream come true, even if it's gift-wrapped in a nightmare.

May sit back in her chair again, drawing her hand once through Peter’s curls before looking back to Tony. “He’s holding his own. The chest tube is for a pneumothorax to his right lung they had to repair in surgery, but Dr. Cho says the damage from the pipe should heal up nicely after with a few days to a week of rest. Besides that, it’s just facial and torso bruising, and some broken ribs from the CPR when they – when he was brought in.”

Tony doesn’t miss the way May’s breath hitches mentioning the resuscitation, how close they had both come to losing the most important person in their lives. A vision of a glass of chocolate milk pops into his head, and he shudders as though physically trying to remove it.

_You can’t. It will never leave you._

Once again, he finds himself with a question he hardly wants to ask, but must. “How did the follow-up tests go?”

May gives him a small, sad smile. “They only just brought him back here ten minutes ago. Dr. Cho is reviewing everything now, she said she’d be back in an hour or two.”

Tony nods, then pulls up the chair on the side opposite May, settling in. Carefully he moves the kid’s arm from his stomach to his side and intertwines their hands, mindful of the IVs. Peter doesn’t grip back when he presses on his finger pads, and Tony feels his heart shatter a little more.

After a few minutes May sits back in her chair, stretching with a big yawn. “I could really use some coffee and maybe a shower. Do you mind-?”

“Of course not,” Tony replies sincerely. “Take your time. We won’t go anywhere, right kid?”

May gives yet another small smile, standing up only to lean once more over Peter. “I’ll be back soon, baby,” she whispers, smoothing back his curls and kissing his forehead gently. “You just let Tony know if you need anything, okay? I won’t be mad if you wake up before I get back, I promise.”

With a nod to Tony, she quietly steps out of the room, only glancing back once before disappearing into the hallway.

Now it’s just him and Peter, Tony lets his façade fall, tears forming in his eyes. Carefully he tugs the hand he’s holding up a few inches before covering it entirely between both of his own, leaning over until his forehead touches both their knuckles. Were someone to walk in right now, they might think him to be praying.

“Kid,” he says, his breath hitching just a bit, “Pete. You have to wake up soon, you hear me? I know it’s only been a day since you saw me last, so I doubt you’re chomping at the bit just yet, but for me it's been _weeks_ , kiddo.”

He turns his head to the side to face the kid then, tears falling over his nose and down his right cheek as he takes in his still features. “Remember when you were on your big Europe trip this summer, and you made fun of me for offering to fly you back a day early just because I missed you? Well, times that feeling by three thousand kid, and you’ll know about how much I need you to open your eyes right now.”

Peter’s lashes don’t even flutter, his breaths remaining slow and steady. Tony bites back a sigh of disappointment, eyes welling up again.

“I know you’re probably wondering what I mean by weeks,” Tony continues, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I was stuck in this limbo of sorts, this place between universes. And guess who was there with me? You were. Well, not _you_ you, but you from other lives. And, god, so many of them were suffering in ways I can’t bear to imagine you suffering. And you know the worst part, Pete? The worst part was that I couldn’t do anything to save them. I had to just let them go back to places without May’s, or without Tony’s, lives where nobody was looking out for them. And I… in the end I had to do something awful to get back to you. Something that went against every atom in this old husk of mine. And I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

Tony wipes his face with a thumb, his grip on Peter’s hand never letting up. “But even if I hate myself for it and always will, it got me back here to you. To the kid I _can_ protect.

“So that’s why I need you to wake up. Because I _need_ to know that my Peter is safe. That you know you always have me in your corner. _God_ , I hope you know that kid.”

Tony falls silent then, unsure what else he can say. How to convey just how much he loves this beautiful, sweet, kind, big-hearted kid.

Before he can get another word out, an orange portal opens up in the corner of the room, and a moment later Dr. Strange steps through. By the look of him, Tony would never guess he’d just been in a major battle only the day before.

“Stark,” he greets, coming to sit in May’s chair before his eyes fall to Peter.

“That’s me,” Tony says tiredly, wiping at his eyes and face as best he can to hide the tear tracks. “What’s up, doc?”

Strange keeps his eyes on Peter. “How is the boy?”

“We’re still waiting to find out,” Tony replies honestly. “Cho is reviewing follow-up neuro test results at the moment. Should have an answer for us in not too long.”

Strange merely hums in response, lifting up each of Peter’s eyelids for pupil inspection.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you can just wave your hands and magic him awake, eh?” Tony asks jokingly, though judging by the regretful expression on Strange’s face when his eyes shift to catch Tony’s, he’s not fooling anyone.

“As I’ve told you before, Stark-“

“ _That’s not how it works_ ,” Tony finishes, wiping a hand across his face again in an effort to shake off his exhaustion. “I figured as much. So where’s Saruman?”

“A safe place, I assure you,” Strange replies, then after a beat, “a place where he can’t cause any harm.”

“Too late,” Tony spits out before he can help it.

Rather than looking confused, Strange’s face only softens. “I came here to see you. I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” Tony says, tone no less sharp. “You weren’t the one who whammied me last I checked, doc.”

“It’s called a _plures mundos_ spell,” Strange replies with a hint of exasperation. “And you are correct, it was not I who cast it. But I do know where that _whammy_ , as you put it, sent you. And sadly, I know the toll you had to pay to get home. For that, I am sorry.”

Tony works his jaw, looking away. His façade is crumbling again, and he really doesn’t want the pity that usually comes with him losing it. “Yeah, well, I made it back, so. Just need this kid – the one who actually belongs to me - to wake up, and everything will be just dandy again.”

Even as he says the words, he doesn’t believe them, and he knows Strange doesn’t either.

“So it was Peter, then?” Strange asks carefully. “Even the greatest of us cannot surmise who victims of the _plures mundos_ will be trapped with. However, it is always someone the person has a strong emotional connection with, whether lovers, enemies… or even our children.”

“He’s not my son,” Tony says quickly, though not with anger.

Strange sighs, shaking his head. “Do you really believe that, Tony? After everything you’ve just endured?”

“I have to,” Tony replies, his voice barely a whisper. “Because if I don’t, then I have to live knowing I killed _my son_. That I _murdered_ him, and for what? What is it worth if all it brought me back to is a boy who might never open his eyes again?”

Tony looks to Peter then but only sees a beaten, mumbling boy on a metal table, the memories he was able to push away before now waging a full-on assault. “God, the Peter I killed… he was being _tortured_ , Strange. Ross had him on the Raft for years and he didn’t have anyone, he was all alone. God, he was so far gone that he couldn’t even tell me it was okay, that I was doing the right thing. But I did it anyway, without his consent.” Soft, airy sobs are coming to the surface now, his back hitching. “But what I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for is that I made myself believe what I was doing was a _mercy_ , not just a selfish son-of-a-bitch move so I could go home.” The sobs are wracking him now, but he has to get this out before it tears him apart. “What kind of monster must I be that I would kill a child like that and call it _mercy_?”

He’s so lost in his own self-hatred that he doesn’t realize Strange has moved around the room until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“I have seen more worlds than you can imagine,” Strange begins. “I have watched good men make terrible choices and cowardly men make heroic ones. I have seen everything fall to ruins or rise to greatness based on the most infinitesimal of decisions.” The hand on his shoulder pats him gently. “You’re not a monster, Tony. You’re a man who desperately loves his child, who would do anything to save that child. And for what it's worth, I believe you _did_ save him.”

The hand on his shoulder tightens then, and Tony looks up, meeting Strange’s eyes. 

"Some fates, even for children, are worse than death.”

\--

Strange departs only a minute or so before May comes back, looking no less worried, but slightly refreshed. She hands Tony a cup of coffee, which he takes gratefully.

“How’s our kid?” she asks, though Tony senses the question isn't aimed at him. “I told him waking up while I was gone was okay, but I guess you just really wanted to wait until I came back, huh kiddo?”

She leans over again, kissing his forehead before gently placing her hand over his heart. “Any time now, Peter. Tony and I are both here.”

“Yup, we're here. Anytime, kiddo,” Tony echoes, clutching the kid’s hand again.

They sit in silence for a bit. Tony doesn’t know what May is thinking about but all his thoughts are consumed with is guilt. Guilt for letting Peter get hurt, and for letting all his other hurt kids out of his sight and back to their tough, lonely lives. Guilt for making a choice to end a tortured child’s misery, never knowing if that child even wanted it. Because no matter what Strange says, he wasn’t that child’s parent. He didn’t have that right.

_It should have been a parent who – who -_

“May,” Tony says suddenly, and her eyes tear away from Peter to meet his watery gaze. “There’s something I need to tell you. About what happened to Peter.”

May’s brow furrows. “Steve already told me what happened in Greenwich, Tony.”

“No, no, not about Greenwich.” Tony shakes his head. “About after that, about where I was.”

“I don’t understand. You were brought here, with Peter-“

“Yes, I was, but I also wasn’t _here_ ,” Tony says. “It’s – it’s hard to explain, but the sorcerer, he did something to me. Whammied me with a spell that sent me to this other place, a place where every day I met a new Peter.”

“A… new Peter?” May asks, looking more confused.

“Yes, like, many Peters, from many different universes. New Peters to _me_. They all led different versions of the life Peter lives here, in our universe. And I met them, and got to know each of them, but in order to get out, I had to – god, I had to something awful, May. Despicable.”

“What did you have to do?”

“Th-there was a Peter who showed up, and he’d been hurt – hurt _badly_ – and the thought of sending him back to a place where he’d only be hurt more and where nobody would protect him… it wasn’t something I could live with. But it was also, god, it was so _selfish_.”

May takes a deep breath at that, before repeating, “Tony, what did you have to do?”

The tears are back now, and Tony is fairly certain he hasn’t cried this much in one day since he broke his leg climbing a tree in 1979. “You have to understand, May, I couldn’t send him back there. I couldn’t. Peter was so broken, so hurt. And he –“

“-is going to be all right.”

Tony and May turned to see Dr. Cho at the door, a tablet in her hands and a broad smile on her face. “Good news, I’m happy to report. Our second set of tests showed significant improvement. We should see him transitioning into a minimally conscious state any time now, if he hasn’t already. I suspect he’ll be fully conscious within a day or two.”

Tony turns to look at May, who has a giant grin plastered on her face, her eyes now no less watery than his own. He feels a laugh bubble up, and May gives a small shriek of joy, jumping up and putting her hands on Peter’s cheeks, peppering his face in kisses.

Tony, also grinning, looks back to Cho, who smiles serenely back before saying, “I’ll leave you all for a little while to celebrate,” and departing as quickly as she came.

Tony also stands up, leaning over Peter as well and brushing his hand through the kid's hair. “Thank you, kiddo. Thank you for fighting, and for staying here with us. God knows we need you.”

He’s still caressing a hand through Peter’s curls when May takes Tony's other hand and squeezes it, drawing his gaze. “Tony, about what you were saying before… I don’t know all that happened, but I also know I don’t need to. I know you, and I know how much you love Peter. There isn’t a doubt in my mind, not one damn _shred_ , that you will always do what is best for him. Whatever happened, you need to forgive yourself. Because I already know I don’t even need to. And the hurt Peter? I’ve no doubt if he could have, he would have told you the same.”

Tony looks back down at Peter again, squeezing May’s hand back in appreciation.

“Okay, May,” he says, barely nodding once but then again, with more conviction, a small smile coming back.

He leans down, kissing Peter's forehead in turn. Softly, he repeats again, "Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm blondsak on tumblr. Stop by and say hi!


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are, folks: the fluffy epilogue I promised!
> 
> More notes at the end.

Tony is just drifting off when there’s a soft knock at his bedroom door.

“Mr. Stark, can I come in?” a voice calls. Tony motions to FRIDAY to open the door just as he turns on his side lamp to reveal a very exhausted looking spiderling.

It had been four days since Peter had awakened to find both May and Tony at his side, coaxing him to open his eyes, relief evident. Cho had only just released him from the medbay that day, but had insisted that he spend another night at the tower for observation and to ensure he was getting proper rest. May had agreed, but had returned to Queens, leaving Peter under Tony’s watch. Not that he minded at all, preferring to keep the kid as close as possible. If Peter had noticed the extra clinginess, he hadn’t commented on it. Perhaps, Tony thought, the kid also preferred it, tactile and affectionate as he was.

“Kid, what are you doing still up?” he asks gently. 

Peter shrugs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Tony knew ‘couldn’t sleep’ was Peter Talk for ‘nightmare’. Ever since the incident with the Vulture, Peter had struggled off and on with terrible nightmares, waking up shaking and crying. Tony had offered many times to listen if Peter wanted to talk about them, but he rarely did. Mostly he just needed comfort, which Tony was always happy to provide.

“I see,” Tony says carefully, then glances over to Pepper’s side of the bed. She’d been in Japan for over a week negotiating a deal for SI and had missed all the action. Much as Tony longed to see her, he was glad she was not here right now. The kid was always much more hesitant to wake Tony up if it meant waking Pepper too.

Tony leans over and pulls back the covers on her side, a clear invitation to Peter. The kid quickly shuffles over, climbing in and cuddling up to Tony, who puts an arm around him. Together they pull the bedspread back up, Tony turning off the lamp. There’s just enough light that he can see the kid’s eyes are still open, staring at the ceiling.

“So how bad, kid?”

“Not that bad.”

“Be honest, Pete.”

“I _am_ being honest. I just didn’t want to be alone after, s’all.”

Tony nods, then realizing Peter can’t see him turns his head and presses a soft kiss to his temple. “I’m glad you came to me, kid. You know I’m always here if you need me, right?”

Peter hums an agreement, and Tony can tell his eyes are closed now. Tony lets his own drift close, and once again is right on the edge of sleep when…

“I overheard Steve and Natasha talking in the communal kitchen today.”

Tony opens one eye, glancing over at the kid. “Oh yeah? What about?”

“They were talking about you and the sorcerer… and about a curse.”

Tony sighs, turning on his side toward Peter, who also shifts around. The two of them are facing each other now, noses only inches apart.

“So you heard about that, huh?”

“Not a lot,” Peter replied. “Steve said something about you being stuck in an alternate universe? With me?”

“More like a limbo, really,” Tony says. “But yeah, I was with you. Well, not _you_ , but other Peters, from other universes.”

Even in the dark, Tony doesn’t miss how the kid’s eyes go wide, his mouth falling into an ‘O’. “No way, Mr. Stark! What were they like? Were they all Spider-Man?”

“Some of them were,” Tony says. “One of them was a girl though, and - get this - she went by _Pete_ -”

“Holy cow!”

“-and she also had a Mr. Stark, or should I say, _Miss_ Stark.”

Peter laughs, the sound airy and bright, lighting up Tony's soul. “Me as a girl is _so_ weird to think about but also so _cool_ , dude.”

“It was indeed very weird, _dude_. But yeah, she was pretty cool too, just like you.”

Peter’s silent for a few moments, clearly mulling everything over. “Did they all have their own Mr. Starks watching out for them, then?”

Tony bites his lip, his mind wandering then to dark crimson scars and incoherent screams, to emotionless grins and burns that would never heal. He mentally pushes the thoughts away, refocusing to see Peter staring at him, expression inscrutable.

Tony leans forward, giving Peter an eskimo kiss. If it also helps ground Tony in the present, all the better. “Most of them did, kid. Not all are as lucky as you and me, though.”

“I feel bad for them. I mean, if you weren’t around, looking out for me and mentoring me and stuff, I think things would probably be a lot worse. You’re like my dad, y’know?" 

Tony’s breath stills, his heart hammering. 

_He just called me his dad._

_DAD. Like it was no big deal._

Tony was very thankful that Peter’s eyes had drifted shut as soon as he finished speaking. It meant he missed the way Tony’s eyes had watered up at the seemingly casual declaration.

_Peter just called me his dad._

Completely unaware of Tony's ongoing emotional crisis, Peter curls his body closer, burrowing his head into Tony’s chest. “‘Night, Mr. Stark.”

“‘Night, kid,” Tony finally responds, gathering himself. Then, in a burst of either insanity or courage, he adds softly, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he hears Peter mumble back, just as easy as he'd said 'dad', clearly on the precipice of sleep.

Tony starts carding fingers through his hair to help him along, and within a few minutes Peter’s breaths even out, tiny puffs of air Tony can feel through his sleep shirt, warming the skin of his reactor scars.

His last waking thought as he drifts off for good is that of all the possible universes, he sure is glad he’s alive in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone who has been following and enjoying this story, and a special thanks to @seekrest, who was an incredible sounding board and cheerleader when I struggled to finish up chapters. Thank you so much for your support, lady <3
> 
> And if you haven't commented yet, I'd really appreciate hearing your thoughts now it's all done :)
> 
> See you all next time!!


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